


The Red-Herring Raid

by toxicdumpingground



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Because I can, Capture, Fem Tully Pettigrew, Gen, I do what I want, a new OC, raid-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicdumpingground/pseuds/toxicdumpingground
Summary: Private Tully Pettigrew is separated from her patrol and re-unites with an old friend.
Relationships: Jack Moffitt & Tully Pettigrew
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Private Daniel Mars hadn’t seen his friend in almost four years. Not since he’d gone to college, and while letters were few and far between, there was enough gossip in the letters from his mother and sister to fill him in on everything happening in their town, up to and including the fact that his friend had vanished off the social map about a year ago. 

The last place he expected to run into Tully Pettigrew was in the middle of the desert, behind the wheel of a jeep, and looking more at home in a battle than the seasoned veterans around her. 

Of course, he didn’t have a chance to talk to her until their “routine supply run” had gone to the pits, and now he was kneeling in the sand with his friend's head in his lap. He struggled to keep blood from oozing from a bullet wound in her shoulder.

“Listen, Tules,” he whispered as the Germans swept through their burned-out convoy; most of them had made it, a few captured and only a few dead. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his first deployment getting him as a POW, but he couldn’t leave Tully bleeding in the sand. “You’re going to be fine. I just need the medic’s bag, and we can get this patched up real quick.” 

If Tully had been conscious, she might have responded. If she hadn’t been wearing a helmet, she would have been dead, so he took the silence as a good sign. “Tully,” he tried, gulping as the tall, lean captain who was directing the soldiers around began to approach. The man was just as dusty as the rest of them, but he carried himself with an unnerving, commanding grace. If Mars hadn’t had his hands full of bleeding, bruised “friend, he would have saluted. But considering he was hunched over, trying to stem bleeding, the Germans hadn’t classified him as a threat. 

Of course, one of the shorter ones had gotten a quick look at Tully and had gone running off to the Captain. 

“What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into?” He whispered to his friend and glanced up as the shadow fell over them. 

“Good evening,” the man’s English was lightly accented and smooth, genteel, and he spoke as if he hadn’t just laid waste to the supply convoy. 

“Evening,” Mars tried, and gulp when the man knelt to one knee beside him. His smooth eyes skipped over Daniel’s face, assessing and calm, and then focused on Tully. Considering just how vulnerable his friend was, Daniel was more than willing to attack if the man-made a single wrong move. “Lovely weather we’re having, nice and sunny.” 

“It is wonderful weather,” Dietrich agreed, and his attention focused on Tully for a long, assessing second. “How is she?” 

“Alive,” he reported, “I need a medics bag. I need to make sure this wound isn’t going to get infected.” His mind raced as he tried to think of something, anything to say. He hadn’t expected the man to be this polite, and the fact that he seemed pleased to see Tully was suspicious. 

“My medic will be over in a moment to assess the damage, Private….” 

“Mars, Private Mars,” he replied, possibly clutching his friend a little closer. She didn’t respond to the pressure, and he gulped. “And I’m not leaving her side, to be clear, sir.” 

“Your dedication is admirable,” the man commented, “be assured, Private, that your friend is in good hands.” 

“Ah, ha,” he gave a shallow, nervous laugh. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little suspicious.” 

“Suspicious?” The man mused, “I assure you that Private Pettigrew will receive all due care. You have no reason to be suspicious.” 

How...how had he known Tully’s name? It wasn’t obvious, and her dog-tags were still in her shirt. In fact, the man looked ...absurdly pleased. He looked far too pleased to see his friend...there was recognition in his eyes. 

“Are you a medic?” 

“Ah...no?” He focused on Tully, her tan face still pale under the harsh sun and the gleam of sweat. 

“Then,” he gestured sharply for someone, and a medic came loping over. He medic recognized his friend, and Daniel tightened his grip even more. It was...so strange! He couldn’t even begin to comprehend why everyone in the desert knew her. Sure it had been a shock to see her, and the biggest shock was to see how comfortable she was in the desert. “Allow the medic to do his work.”

“She’s my friend, and I don’t trust you.” He said firmly, shocking the man. 

“I am a gentleman and an officer!” The captain replied cooly, and Daniel shook his head. 

“Be that as it may,” he still clung to his friend, and Tully groaned faintly. 

“Private Mars, let the medic do his work.” It was only because he had a gun, and Mars didn’t, that he even somewhat moved away. His attention on his bloody friend the entire time. Eventually, he had to concede to being pulled away and shoved over with the rest of the prisoners. His nervousness about the capture nothing compared to his nervousness about Tully’s safety. 

#$#$# 

It would have been more helpful if Tully had died, but Private Pettigrew had a habit of surviving the most difficult of situations and coming out kicking and screaming. Seeing her limp, unresponsive in the arms of an unknown soldier had sent fear and worry zinging down his spine. 

The man had been dedicated and openly suspicious, which he tried not to take offense at. He would be valuable, a man who had known Private Pettigrew before her foray into war and being a commando. 

There weren’t enough tents or enough space in the camp to give Private Pettigrew her own space, armed or otherwise, so his cot was now occupied by the unconscious American. She was quiet, her breathing had steadied, and thanks to morphine, her face wasn’t a sheen of sweat and pain. 

Her side and forehead had been bandaged, and her eyes flickered as she began to wake. 

“Mars?’ She whispered, her eyes slowly opening. “Buddy?” 

“Your friend is well,” Dietrich informed her, and her eyes closed, and she gave a groan that was just a little dramatic. “How do you feel?” 

There were several beats of silence. “Lousy.” She admitted, opening her eyes again. From his experience with Private Pettigrew, she was a quiet woman. She used her words sparingly and often could go an entire encounter without talking. That’s he’d gotten three words out of her was a miracle. 

She seemed content to lay there quietly and to recover from what was doubtlessly a painful experience. 

“The medic will be along shortly, Private.” 

She gave a wordless hum; her eyes were still closed. Dietrich considered speaking, and then he realized that his words would have a greater effect at another time. The medic came and went with hardly a word passed between them.

“It is unlike you to be so quiet, Private.” He said only after he’d finished with the day’s work and was smoking a quiet cigarette. Pettigrew raised didn’t react. “Are you otherwise injured, Private?” 

There was a long moment of silence. “My head.” 

“A concussion, nothing more. The doctor feared it might have been a subdural hematoma. This is not the case. I fear that the recovery for such a concussion might be longer.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“When we return to base, a surgeon will examine your shoulder. There is little my medic can do for you at the moment.” He waited for a response, but she seemed to have dropped off to sleep again. It was nerve-wracking to have a Rat Patrol member in his hold and still not know where the others were. He could guess that this had been a spectacular failure of the Americans part because they failed to heed Private Pettigrew’s expertise. 

Not many did now, only newcomers. 

Still, he had work to do.

#$#$#

Private Mars and the others were loaded into the truck, and it took all of Mars’ effort not to fling himself out of the truck towards the truck where he saw Tully being loaded. She was on a stretcher, looking ashy at the jostling. A medic was directing the men. She didn’t look awake, and Daniel’s eyes were on her until the truck started up, and they pulled out in front of the column. 

“She a friend of yours?” Asked someone, and he nodded slowly. “I think she’ll be okay.” 

“I hope so.” 

It was a long, bumpy, and uncomfortable drive. 

34#$#$#$3

It was a long drive, and despite the fact that Tully was down for the count with a bullet wound and violent concussion, Captain Dietrich posted several guards to watch her. His young, and slightly jumpy aide named Arnheiter, helped her up long enough to drink some water before she tired to lay back and sleep. 

Her head pounded viciously, and badly enough that she worried that her head was damaged. It wasn’t often that something could take out Tully Pettigrew, she was strong, steady, the rudder that guided the team, and her driving skills were legendary. Her shoulder ached, and when she did wake up, it was from a shadow passing by overhead. She opened her eyes to see a light gauzy fabric face. 

“Hm?” She pulled it away and closed her eyes at the bright sun. They were in a small town, and from her vantage point she could see more trucks and the taller buildings. 

“I apologize, Private Pettigrew,” she squinted up at Dietrich, feeling her stomach roil. “Arnheiter believed the veil would protect you from sunburn given that you are without a hat.” 

Tully had seen a lot of things since she’d started in the desert. Men doing horrible things, and men doing wonderful things in the name of so many things. For her enemy, a man who ought to rightly fear her, to take into consideration a sunburn from such a short drive, was enough to make her turn her pounding head toward the captain and give him a slow blink. 

“I will relay your gratitude.”

She could have smiled at that. So far only Moffit knew how to read her like that. 

She couldn’t move much with her shoulder and arm immobilized, and with a headache, she could hardly focus her eyes for very long. There wasn’t a lot to do or see at the moment, and while she wasn’t as nervous she she might have been being captured by someone else she was more nervous about Mars. 

Dietrich was a tricky sort of character and Daniel was friendly, forthright, and honest. There were also an awful lot of the German officers looking more than pleased to see her.

ERE

Dietrich was not surprised to see that the base commander was roused from his office when it was announced that he’d captured a member of the Rat Patrol. The elusive band had irritated and frustrated the entire base more than once. The Rat Patrol had achieved legendary status in the past year, and Dietrich’s feud with them was well-known. 

“Colonel Heider,” he saluted, and the men carrying Private Pettigrew paused. She looked pale and sick, with the bandages stark against her tan skin and her uniform. 

“The rat patrol driver?” He’d heard of Private Pettigrew, the woman who drove at night and in the middle of firefights. She was deadly in her own right, but Dietrich knew men often made the most foolish assumptions. “The woman? An easy catch then. I’ll be impressed when you bring in Sergeant Troy’s hat.” 

“Yes, sir.”It was unseemly to defend the enemies capabilities like this. He knew just what Tully Pettigrew was capable of, and he knew how many bodies she was responsible for. 

“Still this is quiet a catch. I’ll relay this to High Command. What’s wrong with her?” 

“Bullet wound as well as a head injury,” Dietrich tried not to think of how pale and sickly she looked. “It would be best to put her under heavy guard on the second floor.” 

“The second floor?” 

“To prevent climbing down, a concussion can cause vertigo and we must press every advantage we can with Private Pettigrew.” 

“You are too cautious, Dietrich.” but the man barked orders for a room to be cleared and set up for the private to be held in. 

“There is another matter Colonel.” 

“What?” The man didn’t look pleased. 

“There is a Private Mars among the prisoners. I believe that he is an old friend of Private Pettigrew.” 

“We can interrogate him.” 

“That would be suspicious and make him even less likely to talk. If I may propose.” The man considered Dietrich carefully and nodded. 

#$#$3 

“This is her helmet, Sarge.” Private Hitchock felt his stomach roil as he hoisted a helmet up for his sargeants to see. It was dented, bloody, and he was grateful that it was empty. 

“No sign of her, Troy.” Moffit mused, his expression was tight and tense. “They left the bodies, plenty men unaccounted for, and...it seems she was captured.” 

“The first place they’d take this many prisoners, a Rat, and all those supplies is their base, but it’s too far to go on the gas we’ve got.” 

“If it’s Dietrich I’m not too worried about her,” Hitch said suddenly, “but that bounty on her head.” 

“If anything we can always ask the prince to rescue her,” Sam joked, and there was flash of something in Moffits eyes as he remembered the proposal they’d had to fend off for Tully’s hand. 

“I doubt we’ll need his assistance,” Moffit said coolly. “We must report back to base that Private Pettigrew is MIA and possibly a prisoner.” 

“What’ll they do with her, sarge,” Hitch asked, climbing into his jeep. 

“No idea. That’s a lot of blood though.” Troy gingerly cradled the ruined helmet in his lap. “Let’s shake it!” 

#$#$#

Tully woke up in a room, not a cell, and at the sound of German being whispered harshly behind the door. She sat up, groaning as her shoulder ached furiously, and her head pounded. Still there was work to be done, she shuffled around the room and over the window which opened, but when she leaned out there were three guards on the ground floor and she she turned her head up, there was a guard on a roof leaning over and waving politely. 

She didn’t bother with the door, guessing that there were men outside it too. With a sigh she sank back onto the bed, not a cot and wasn’t that nice, and hoped her friends were alright. She had confidence that Troy would come for her, he always did. 

##$#$# 

Private Mars was alone in his cell, which thankfully shared a wall with another prisoner. Another American who had been thrown in just a few minutes later looking ruffled and tired. 

“Howdy.” 

“Did you happen to see where they sent my friend?” He asked, and realized that the man probably didn’t know who he was talking about. “The lady, Pettigrew.” 

“Private Pettigrew?” The man guessed, and Mars nodded. “The Rat Patrol?” 

“The who?” He blinked, and his confusion was echoed on the man’s face. “The what?”

“The driver for the Rat Patrol, everyone knows them,” the man looked like he didn’t believe Mars, who shrugged again. “You know who she is?” 

“She’s my friend, and last I saw her pulse was pretty thready and she looked like death warmed over. I just want to know if she’s alright.” 

“She...she’s probably fine.” 

“Yeah,” Mars slumped back on his cot, “I hope so.” 

“She’s your friend?” The man tried, “but you don’t know about the Rat Patrol?” 

“Wasn’t in the briefings,” he tried think of something else. 

“But she’s a legend, haven’t you heard? She’d known across the desert! I heard she once had to fend off a marriage proposal from an arab prince.” 

“What?” 

“That she dives into battle alongside the bravest! She’s….in the Rat Patrol, how do you not know this?”

“Dives into battle? Marriage? None of that sounds like Tules.”

“Tules?”

“Her nickname, but seriously. I don’t...the Rat Patrol?”

“They’re commandos, they drive around to blow up convoys and.” 

“Commandos?”He gasped, feeling more like his mother with each passing minute. “No, my friend is not a commando.” he remembered, vividly hearing the cops in town discussing the insane moonshiners. The runners across state lines, and then he shook his head again. “No. Impossible.” 

“Impossible?” The man peered at him. “Really?” 

“It’s Tully,” he protested, needing someone to think of Tully as the laconic girl in the school who had punched out a few bullies. Quiet and polite, and poorer than dirt with her dozens siblings. It was...this was war. “This is war! The two don’t go together.’ 

“Why not?” 

“They,” he thought of the poachers, the smugglers, the hunters, and everyone else who had been in their neck of the woods. He tried to remember how they’d become friends, but he couldn’t.” 

“Mars?” 

“She can’t be.” He had heard stories of commandos. He had heard stories of their dangerous missions, the sabotage, and everything else. He remembered his friends cold eyes and the ways she’d driven and fought. “She just can’t be.” 

“#$#$#4

Tully didn’t mind the little room for the first few days of her imprisonment. She was left mostly alone, aside from a check-up from the medic. Her head was recovering slowly, and her shoulder felt like a bucket of pain. It was easy to push through the pain while on a mission, but at the moment she was left alone. A knock at the door surprised her, and she turned as it opened. 

Captain Dietrich moved into the room, clicking his heels together and giving a short bow. Moffit had told her it was meant to be a sign of politeness, and he’d explained the manners often enough that she thought she could identify them. “Private Pettigrew.” 

“Captain,” she nodded, her right arms still too damaged to raise it above her head and she sure couldn’t manage a salute. 

“How are you feeling, Private?” 

“Fine.” She replied. 

“I am not here for an idle visit, Private Pettigrew. I have been sent to extend an invitation to dinner from the base commandant.” 

“No thanks.” 

Dietrich smiled faintly, his eyes falling to the floor momentarily. “I am afraid, Private, this is an invitation that you cannot turn down.” 

“What does he want?” 

“Merely a dinner conversation, Private.” 

That sounded suspicious, and she didn’t like it, but she nodded. Her head still ached somewhat, and she had to take a break half-way down the stairs, but Captain Dietrich guided her through the compound. 

She didn’t make a habit of asking questions or making observations the same way others, and she wasn’t going to share her thoughts with the captain. They moved through the building and came into a dining room. It was...fancy. The sort she could imagine Moffit being comfortable in. Sitting at the table was a colonel in a shining uniform. He looked put together, as if he’d never gone out and gotten it dirty. 

“Private Pettigrew!” The man stood, giving a short bow that still felt like an insult. “Welcome! It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

She nodded, and he looked to Captain Dietrich as the silence dragged on. “A woman of few words.” That had been said for her benefit. 

“Yes, sir. “

“Private, you are still injured and must be tired. Sit, sit,” he gestured at the free chair and Pettigrew kept her eyes open and about as she sat down reluctantly. It wasn’t like officers to behave like this. The food looked good, it certainly wasn’t food she recognized, but it didn’t look like rations or anything shipped from home or elsewhere. Moffit might have known what it was. “How are you feeling? The doctor assures me that your recovery is proceeding well. Captain, join us. We must eat.” 

Pettigrew had a feeling that she wasn’t providing the sort of entertainment that the kommandant was looking for. Her skills lay with weapons, driving, outrunning cops and Germans, and infiltration. She wasn’t a lady, she wasn’t a darling, and she didn’t know why there were three forks at the table. Picking up the most reasonably sized she worked her way through the food without comment.

“What do you think? Fine German cooking, my cook studied at the University of Munich before the war.” 

Cooking school? That sounded awful French, still, she offered the man a thumbs up and caught a reflection of Dietrich’s faint smile in the mirrors dotting the room. 

“It’s good,” she said slowly, eating quickly and efficiently, clearing off her plate before either man had. It was best to eat quickly and without delay. You never knew when you were going to get attacked, or sent out on a mission, or if someone was going to try and pull a prank on you. 

“Thank you.” The man was looking at her and then at Dietrich. There was a stilted conversation in German. A conversation that she only caught a part of. Moffit was still trying to teach her German. He’d sit beside the jeep she was repairing and working on, slowly coaxing her way through German and patiently waiting for her to repeat the words. His friendship was worth more than most, and she wanted nothing more to be back at base with her team. 

“Private Pettigrew,” Dietrich’s voice broke her out of her reverie, and she blinked. “What occupies your thoughts with such intensity?” The two officers were staring at her, and she decided to answer honestly. 

“If the Rosetta Stone helped translate the old writing,” she mused, “then how’d they figure out what the stone said? Wasn’t it hard to read.” 

Dietrich blinked, looking faintly surprised and the commander looked bemused. For several seconds there was total silence. 

“I believe there are some records of the expedition that have survived from the recovery of the stone.” Dietrich said stoically, and she was pretty sure that he was trying not to laugh his head off. He was like the doc, his laughter was all on the inside. 

“Huh,” she figured that explaining that this would be a funny story to tell the Doc when she escaped. She was perfectly alright with the silence, but she knew from experience that most people weren’t. It got people talking. 

Captain Dietrich was quiet, and tried not to sigh visibly when the base commander launched into a pontificating speech about latin and archeology. It could or could not have been accurate, but given by the soft, possibly attentive Private Pettigrew, he had a feeling the man was letting out more than he thought. The commander was a man who liked to hear himself talk, and it wasn’t appropriate to correct an officer in front a prisoner, but it wasn’t all entirely accurate 

Still, he hadn’t anticipated Private Pettigrew being interested in archaeology. Perhaps the doctor was influencing her. The only information that he’d gotten from the spy in the cells with Private Mars had been the man’s total and utter disbelief that his friend had ever engaged in any commando activity. He seemed to operate under the impression that they were either confused or that Private Pettigrew was not who she said she was. It wasn’t very helpful and so far he’d only been vehement in his impression that private Pettigrew would never do what they claimed she would do. 

When Pettigrew grimaced more than once in a minute, he knew her head was bothering her. “Sir,” he waited for a break in his speech, “I believe that our guest's concussion requires attention.” He also didn’t like the idea of keeping Pettigrew out in the open. Troy would be here, someone would try a rescue and even wounded and concussed he didn’t trust the woman. 

“Of course, of course,” the commander looked irritated, but like most officers he didn’t take Private Pettigrew as the threat that she was. She was a tall woman, but with poor posture that gave her a smaller appearance. Even her wide shoulders were hunched inward and the bandages made her look pale and small. “Captain, return her to her room. We will arrange her transfer in a few days.” 

“Sir, I believe that it is wise to transfer her sooner rather than later. The longer she is held here the more she recovers and the more likely an escape or a rescue will occur.” 

“Nonsense,” the man gestured at Private Pettigrew who was investigating the salt shakers with a curious expression. They were stylized and probably more absurd than the woman was used to. 

“Sir.” 

“Escort her back, we will revisit the issue with the other prisoners.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, and turned to Private Pettigrew. “If you would please, private.” 

“Sure,” She stood, and with a shallow nod to the commander, she preceded him out of the room. Ordinarily he would be deeply nervous about this, but he’d seen the private listing to the side and squinting in the candlelight.   
By the time they’d reached her quarters/cell she was breathing a little harder than normal, and she paused. Lifting her head, she squinted at him. “I ain’t a store-front mannequin.” With the charming bit, she moved back into her room and Dietrich frowned at the wood. 

Certainly it was unusual, but there were officers who goggled at Private Pettigrew each time she was captured long enough for them to meet her. He knew for a fact that a few officers had met sticky ends by treating her as anything other than the threat that she was. He hadn’t even known she was a woman until later, and realizing it had been a total shock. For months he’d tangled with the Rat Patrol, before Moffit had joined, he assumed that the driver wearing his helmet was private. 

And then he’d captured them, and the up-close look at Private Pettigrew had been enough to clear away the doubts that had been lingering in the back of his mind. He’d suspected, and dismissed his suspicions until presented with irrefutable proof. 

Find out why she was a driver for the LRDP had gotten him nowhere. She didn’t talk about it, and when he’d question Private Hitchcock the man had just shrugged. Store-front mannequin was probably an apt way of putting it, officers wanted to meet her. Like tonight, they learned the hard way that she didn’t care or notice their airs or insults. It was amusing, and he took a bizarre sort of pride in the fact that he could get her attention and a few words while other officers had to cajole or threaten her. 

34343434

“There’s too many guards right there,” Hitch said, pointing out the guards on the roof and below the window. 

“Dietrich must have learned his lesson,” Moffit mused, “I’m surprised the commander took him seriously.” 

“Hmm, then Tully must have been injured pretty badly. How do we want to do this?” He was staring at the window that had to lead into her room. “We don’t want to fall into another trap.” They all grimaced at the last time Dietrich had used Tully to lure them into a trap.

“Carefully,” Troy said, “we’ll plan this carefully.” 

#$#$#$#

Private Mars was leaning back on his cot, stunned to his very core, and not sure if he should take the information about Tully seriously. She was his friend! She was a lady! How could she...how could she be a commando? 

True, she had run moonshine. Tangling with the police was something only insane people did...was driving from the Germans like driving from the cops? 

She’d killed people! At least, if the stories he’d heard actually meant anything. If he chose to believe them. 

He didn’t. 

“Daniel,” he jerked his eyes opened, and gulped when he caught sight of the tall captain standing just outside his cell. It was nerve wracking considering that he hadn’t heard him come in. 

“Ah, captain.” He gave a poor salute, and tried to shake the tingling out of his arms. 

“Private Mars,” the cool brown eyes searched his face. “You are a friend of Private Pettigrew’s. 

“Private First Class Daniel Mars,” Daniel said, “serial number.” 

“And doubtless you are concerned for her recovery from the overturned jeep?” 

“Private First Class Daniel.” 

“And of her continued absence from a regular prison cell.” 

“Private First…” he paused. “What do you want?” 

“Are you not concerned about your friend?” 

“Yes,” he glowered, “is she alright?” 

“She is recovering well, but I have found something peculiar, Private Mars.” 

“Errrrr.” 

“Private Pettigrew is rarely alone or separated from her regular outfit….the Rat Patrol.” 

“The who?”

“The Rat Patrol,” Dietrich paced from one end of the cell to the other. “Doubtless you have heard stories of their daring raids.” 

“They’re just stories, and.” 

“What was she doing with your convoy, Private Mars?” 

“Private First Class Daniel Mars.” 

“If she was to lead the convoy, then its disastrous end could have only come from one place...failing to listen to Private Pettigrew.” 

Daniel swallowed his tongue. 

“Then Private Pettigrew’s delivery would have been ruined by this failure.” 

Delivery? Daniel’s brow furrowed. But...there had been something. Tully had been holding onto a bag. An important bag, it had vanished during the fight. 

“Where did she put the bag?” Dietrich asked, and Daniel gulped. How did he know? 

“Private First Class Daniel Mars,” he ground out instead. 

“Thank you, Private Mars,” Captain Dietrich’s smile was too soft to be pleasant. “You have been most helpful.” 

“I was not!” He exclaimed as the man left. “I was not helpful at all!” 

#$#$#4

Tully groaned as the knock came at her door, it opened without waiting for her response. 

Captain Dietrich entered, a hand on his pistol. “Private Pettigrew, please stand away from the bed.” 

She frowned, but stood. Two extra guards entered, and her frown deepened as they began to take apart the bed piece by piece. Every inch of the room was searched, and as she turned to follow their progress, she jerked violently when the captain’s free hand pressed against her back. 

A crinkle of paper filled the suddenly silent room, and Tully gulped. 

“Private Pettigrew,” with all of the manners of a gentleman, Dietrich withdrew his hand, but his eyes were hard. “Remove the paper.” 

“No.”

“Private, remove the paper or I will have to.”

“You,” the two guards were armed, and with her head still aching, and with her wound acting up, she grimaced and reached beneath her shirt and pulled out the folded packet of papers. 

They were bloody, the pages having stuck together, but it was clear enough to show that she’d been hiding them when the attack had hit and even mind-addled from the blow to her head and gunshot, she’d still taken the time to secure the papers. “Fuck,” she said quietly with great feeling. 

“Well done, Private Pettigrew,” Dietrich stepped away, and surveyed the plans. “Doubtless hiding you among the others of the convoy was their plan? Allow you to make the delivery, removing suspicions when you aren’t in the company of Sgt. Moffit.” 

Tully glared as the guards began to put the room back in order. She refused to look Dietrich in the eye as he circled around. 

“That was what was most suspicious, Private Pettigrew.” 

“Damn,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchstick, chewing on it viciously as the guards left and Dietrich gave a faint nod as he retreated, his weapon still at the ready. 

“Have a good evening,” he said, and as the door shut behind him, she kicked it as hard as she could. The guards shouted in alarm, the door held, and her foot hurt. 

“FUCK!” She exclaimed, and sat down on the rumpled bed. 

#$#$3 

“What is the matter?” Colonel Heider demanded as Dietrich intruded upon his evening drink. 

“Private Pettigrew was the courier for a set of battle plans.” He set the bloody plans on the table. “These were uncovered from her person. This would explain why she was separated from the others of her usual patrol. And, given by the outburst once I left, these are important.”

“Impossible!” Still, the colonel leaned forward, and Dietrich showed him the plans he’d recovered. “Hiding them! She was injured when she was discovered. She would not have been able to.” 

“I would not be so sure,” Dietrich mused, “these plans will be very helpful and doubtless the Allies wanted to entrust them to their most trusted driver.” 

“Bah, they will need to be restored, there is too much blood on them.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good work, Hauptmann. I will have these sent ahead to headquarters with the woman.” 

“Sir,” he hesitated, “Private Pettigrew’s presence will endanger the safe delivery of those plans. If the other members of the Rat Patrol trace them, they will seize the Rat and the plans in one fell swoop.” 

“Hmmm,” Colonel Heider watched him carefully, “very well. You have faced this Rat Patrol often enough to know their tactics. You will deliver the plans to headquarters and I will secure the driver.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Leave at first light,” the man ordered. 

“Yes, sir!” Saluting, and retiring from his office, he couldn’t stop the swell of satisfaction of having gotten one of the rat patrol. Capturing their best driver, securing future battle plans, and his commander listened to him? This was too good to be true. It was excellent. 

The next morning he made it to his vehicle with his convoy ready and the bloody battle plans with him. Before he mounted his truck, he looked up the window that he knew Private Pettigrew was behind. He watched her appear at the window, her eyes on him. He gave a shallow nod and climbed aboard. 

The plans would go to headquarters and Private Pettigrew would be transferred to a POW camp. 

One member of the Rat Patrol would be taken away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An escape and another capture.

“I say,” Moffit handed the binoculars over to his CO. “That looks like Dietrich.”

“He’s leaving Tully?” Sam asked, confused and a little alarmed. Dietrich was notorious for being picky about how the members of the Rat Patrol were supposed to be handled. “He wouldn’t have left her if he didn’t have a damn good reason.”

“Not going to argue with that, but what could make him leave?”

“He must have gotten something from her,” the three men exchanged a look. “Or it’s a trap.”

“He doesn’t know that we’re here.”

“He knows we’ll come after her.”

“Or he’s been recalled for a reason,” Troy muttered, “we need to go for Tully before anything happens.”

#$#$3

Tully honestly hadn’t expected to be moved from the little room. If the colonel had been smart he would have listened to his subordinate and not thrown her into a set of cells whose exact design she’d escaped before.

He also wouldn’t have thrown her into a cell right next to her friend. Not that he actually threw her in, he was bizarrely polite about the whole thing, making as if he was doing her a favor (which he was) and that Dietrich was clearly paranoid. She wasn’t sure what the protocol was, but she didn’t think that it was proper for an officer to bad mouth his subordinate to the enemy. 

“Tules?” Mars jerked awake as the cell door opened and she stepped through. “Tules, are you alright?”

Nodding, she watched the colonel and the guards leave, and turned to her friend. He was sporting some impressive stubble, and he looked as worried as he always did. Considering the last thing she remembered from the convoy was Daniel looming over her and frantically applying pressure to her shoulder, he probably had a right to be worried.

“Okay,” she gave a thumbs up, and focused on the second man and with a questioning nod at Daniel, he grinned.

“This is Private Donner, got chucked in here right after I did. Hey, how’s your head? It looked pretty bad.”

“Fine,” she slunk over to the cot and sat down. Private Donner? She didn’t remember seeing him before.

“You’re really a woman?” Private Donner asked, his eyes were a soft blue and he had shaggy blond hair. “I mean...I heard stories about you, but I didn’t think that...well. You’re...really a woman?”

“Of course she’s a woman! Best moonshiner in the state of Kentucky too, cops never wanted to admit she outran them.”

“Mars,” she said sharply and he fell silent with a questioning glance.

“Moonshiner?” Donner mouthed the word, and his eyes were wide with surprise…. “Moonshiner.”

“I could still get arrested for that,” she muttered, and Mars nodded.

“Sorry.”

“Hush up.”

“Alright,” he finally fell silent and Tully rubbed the side of her head gingerly.

Dietrich had the plans, she was injured and with someone wholly inexperienced in the desert, and she had no idea if Sarge and the others were coming to her rescue. 

“Tules?” Mars was watching her carefully, “are you alright?”

“Hmmm.” Laying down sideways, she decided to wait until the world stopped tilting on its access.

#$#$3

Hitch was familiar with breaking and entering, a skill his mother and father would be fiercely critical of, as they related to bases and camps in the desert. Half of it came from training, and half of it came from the pranks he and his friends used to pull in college. If he’d known that the planning and execution of the theft of a rivals school mascot would help him break his best friend out of a prison cell in the middle of North Africa...he probably would have planned more than just one break-in.

“Tully,” he hissed, and the figure he knew better than his own, stirred.

“Hitch?” Tully sat up, and pressed a finger to her lips. She scooched across the cell, and crouched beside the bars next to him. “You got the keys?”

“Sure do,” he held up the single key and eyed her. She seemed as steady as always, but there was an impressive amount of bandages on her head and she was favoring her right arm. “You okay?”

“Concussion and a graze, what about the guards?”

“Asleep, Doc slipped something into their coffee. Come on.” He opened the cell, careful of the noise, he opened the door just wide enough to let his best friend slip through. The next cell Tully opened, and he moved across the cell to make sure the man didn’t wake up screaming. “Hey,” he stared into the wide eyes of the other private, he’d woken up thrashing and with hand clamped firmly over his mouth. “We’re busting out, keep quiet and follow our lead.”

The man nodded and Hitch lifted his hand away. Following the same procedure with the third man who seemed deeply alarmed as he was ushered out of cell. As they passed the guards, dozing over their cups of coffee, his eyes widened even further, but he remained silent as the four of them darted from shadow to shadow and past the search lights until they slid down a distant sand dune where a Jeep was idling.

“Sarge?” Tully, looking faintly pained, watched Troy melt from the shadows. “Dietrich got the plans!”

“The plans?” Troy and the rest of them had thought Tully had only gone along as a driver.

“The plans I was carrying, Sarge. He’s got them.”

Troy swore, and Hitch felt ice settle in his stomach. Dietrich had left earlier that day, too heavily protected and too far ahead for them to reach.

“We need to get back to base and report this, they’ll run straight into a trap.” He nodded to Hitch, Mars, and Donner. “Tully, go with Moffit. He’s driving and don’t argue. You,” he pointed to Mars, “with them. You,” Donner blinked. “With us.” Troy blinked as Tully stumbled a step and he caught her as she nearly fell over. Hitch watched as worry played across Troy’s face and then he sighed.

“Sorry, Sarge.” she said, and Moffit appeared.

“Got to see you, old man.” The man helped Tully across the sand until she could sit down.

“We’ll get you to a hospital, Tully,” Troy promised, and Hitch had to wonder as he ushered Donner into the passenger’s seat.

“Shouldn’t I sit in the back?” Donner asked, and looked pained at the inadvertent question.

“You’ve been in Dietrich’s hands,” Troy grunted, “you need the break.”

“Yes, sir.” Donner looked a little sour-faced for a second, but he went easily enough. Driving through the desert at night was not recommended. There were a hundred threats that didn’t just come from your enemies. Sand-pits, kidnappers, sand-storms, break-downs, rocks, enemy strafing, and even some critters. Hitch didn’t like to brag, but he hadn Tully had not only mastered night-driving, they had pioneered new ways to cross the desert in a pair of jeeps. Their enemies knew that they could do the impossible, but how they managed it was a source of the questions Hitch had aimed at him whenever he was in their custody long enough for them to work past their initial interrogation.

It was no wonder that Donner looked sick and terrified as they swept across the desert in the middle of the night, the moon and stars as their only source of light.

#$##$

Colonel Boggs squinted as a dusty troup was ushered into his office. Sergeant Troy, both his best commando and the biggest headache this side of the Atlantic, had rings of dirt and sweat around his eyes in the shape of his goggles. The vaguely racoon-like look was across the faces of the rest of the Rat Patrol and the two men he didn’t recognize.

“Sir,” Sergeant Troy saluted, “we recovered Private Pettigrew, Mars, and Donner. The other members of the convoy had already been moved along to a POW camp before we arrived.”

“I see,” Boggs eyed Pettigrew. “Pettigrew, you should be in the hospital Pettigrew.” He paused. Staring sharply at Troy, he frowned. “Corporal Klinger?”

“Sir?”

“Get the captain in here, and get some orderlies to get Private Pettigrew to the hospital.” Unlike the rest of the Rat Patrol, Pettigrew often went willingly enough to the hospital. “Troy get you and the others to the mess hall. I’ll call for you in about half an hour.”

Troy saluted, “yes, sir.”

“Pettigrew..a word first.”

“Sir?” She swayed faintly, and Boggs gestured for her to sit down while glaring at Troy. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he told Troy. As soon as his office was clear, he sighed deeply.

“Private Pettigrew...when you were captured did anything happen?”

“I got invited to dinner.” She said, surprising him.

“Dinner?” That wasn’t as odd as he’d like it to be. “Who?”

“Colonel Heider,” she blinked slowly, and he could tell she was doing her best to stay awake. “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing we need to see nurses for?” He hedged, trying to force down a blush.

“No, sir.”

“That’s one thing we can thank Dietrich for,” he sighed.

“Sir...he got the plans and he left with the plans.”

“I understand, Private Pettigrew. I know you did your best,” he nodded. “Alright, get yourself over the hospital and if I send someone to find you and you’re not in the hospital I’m going to stick you in a cell of our own for your recovery ward, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, now go.” The woman vanished through the door, and Captain Scamander swept in.

“Good man, Colonel,” Scamander saluted jauntily, somehow looking put-together and wide-awake at 0430. “How is it?”

He told the man as soon as the door shut, “ we’ve got a spy hanging around the mess hall.”

“Yes, clever man that Dietrich. Truly a devilish mind.”

“Your plan worked then,” Boggs crossed his arms, “and I’m not comfortable putting our best driver up as a decoy. She’s a regular soldier, not a spy.”

“Yes, sir,” Scamander pulled out a cigarette, and lighting it said, “Pettigrew was vital as the decoy, sir. As the best driver out in the desert, and the darling of the Rat Patrol.”

“Hitchcock is the darling of the Rat Patrol.”

“She’s never far from Sergeant Moffit’s side. A short-sighted man would say that using her as a courier would be perfect, but separating her from Moffit is both suspicious from one side and makes sense from another. She would do anything to protect the plans. Giving her plans she thought were real meant that her reaction would be genuine when they were taken.”

“All this to trick one man?”

“Of course, he’s the one we need to trick. Fooling an entire army too much work, and dangling a member of the Rat Patrol was the perfect bait. He knows that you trust them implicitly and that they have a shockingly high success rate. If this truly goes according to plan, they will be walking right into our trap.”

“I hope so,” he frowned at the red-head Englishman who looked too smug for Boggs taste.

“Right,“ Boggs rubbed his forehead. “We lost supplies and a few good men. This had better work.”

“Of course, if everything goes according to plan then we should recover both the supplies and the men in short order...excellent show.”

“Excellent,” the colonel sighed.

#$#$#

“So you knew Tully back in Kentucky?” Hitch tried to not sound too jealous, but it was hard to deny that Tully was his friend and she didn’t have a lot of those.

“Sure did!” Mars sipped his coffee. “She and I used to go to school together.”

“Really?” Private Donner was listening, “he said he had no idea that Tully was a commando.”

“Well, why is she? Well...I guess if you want to get real technical it makes sense but still.”

“Technical?” Donner asked, and Hitch frowned.

“Tully is a good driver,” Troy put in, “our best.”

“Better than me, Sarge?” Hitch asked, grinning.

“Sure, why do you think I paired her with Moffit?”

“To get him out of trouble as fast as he gets himself into it?”

“Cheeky,” Moffit said, raising a dark eyebrow. “Troy, you shouldn’t teach them such insolence.”

“They have to learn it somewhere,” Troy grinned.

“We need to visit Tully in the hospital, check to see if she’s alright,” Hitch’s tone changed abruptly. “She stumbled, did you see that? She never falls over.”

“I hope her shoulder is alright,” Mars put in, “she looked real pale when they took her into the compound.”

“We can go visit when they’re done checking her out,” Troy shook his head, “they don’t like it when we hover around in the x-ray room. Sit tight until we’re sure she’d been given a bed.”

“I don’t like leaving her in the hospital,” Hitch muttered.

“The nurses don’t seem to mind her company.”

“What do you mean technically?” Donner finally spoke up, his attention focusing on Mars.

“Oh, it’s a funny story.” Mars yelped a second later, his words dying in his throat. “Oh, right. Sorry, it’s not much to tell...not that funny.” Donner frowned at them and shrugged, not having seen Hitch kick the other man under the table.

“At least we recovered Tully.” Moffit sighed.

“The captain’s not stupid enough to transport plans and Tully in the same convoy.” Troy grunted, and he watched Donner’s eyes widen. “It’s one or the other.”

“If he’d had both...would you have chased him down?”

“ ‘course,” Hitch scoffed.

“Oh,” Donner sighed, looking wistful. “Sounds...reliable.”

“I guess no one came for you?” Hitch asked, and he didn’t miss the way Troy’s mouth tilted upward for a faint second.

“No.” Donner clutched his cup to his chest and sighed. “I don’t think they tried.”

“Hitch, Mars, go see Tully.” Troy’s eyes were focused on Donner, who suddenly looked nervous.

“Sure thing, Sarge,” Hitch tapped Mars’ shoulder, “let’s go see her.” He felt bad for Donner, not everyone could have a Sarge and Moffit to come after them.

Troy stared at the young man, he was hiding his nerves well and clutching at his coffee-cup as Troy moved to sandwich with Moffit.

“Private Donner, right?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked toward the door.

“How long were you a prisoner?”

“A few weeks, sir.”

“Hey, call me Sarge. Call me sir and I’ll break out in hives.”

“Yes, Sarge,” Donner sipped his coffee.

“You have any trouble?” Troy asked, hedging for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to get.

“I’m only a private, sir.”

“Why wouldn’t they transfer you to a regular POW camp?” Moffit asked.

“I,” Donner looked down, “I don’t know.”

“What happened, kid?” Troy asked, lowering his voice as the young man’s shoulder hunched.

“I...they found out,” he bit his lip. “That I cook.”

Troy blinked a few times. “You cook?”

“I trained as a cook, I wanted to be a chef before I was drafted,” Donner glanced over at Moffit. “They made me cook. The colonel in particular wanted me to cook...I trained as a cook and I was always under heavy guard.”

“Cooking isn’t so bad,” Troy mused, “they coulda done worse. Did they hurt you?”

“No, Sarge...they only wanted me to cook and once they realized that I did not know anything useful...I was locked up until it was time to cook.” Private Donner looked even smaller than before, and tired too. “Sarge, is it possible for me to get a cot? I’m pretty bushed.”

“Only when Colonel Boggs wants us,” Troy grunted, “until we can figure out what to do.”

“They might send you out again?” He looked shocked.

“Sure.”

“Are you fighting this war alone?” The blond asked, glancing over at Moffit who yawned and gave a short laugh.

“Of course not, we have Tully and Hitch.”

“Oh,” Donner nodded, “right.”

#$#$#

“You need to rest, Tully,” leaning over her with a frown on her delicate face, Nurse Booker held a cup of water as threateningly as someone could hold a cup of water. “You have a concussion, and if you try to get off that cot I’m going to sit on you.”

“I could use the company,” Tully winked, and Booker sighed deeply.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die, Tully,” she scolded, setting the water beside the bed. “The helmet protected your head and you need to lay down and rest and not move around. Do you understand?”

“I’ve got it.” The former moonshiner watched Booker unroll a blanket and toss it over the cot.

“And with your shoulder! You had better not let Hitch talk you into anything stupid for a few weeks.”

“It’s not my fault!” Hitch protested, appearing around the privacy curtain. “Hi, Booker.”

“Private Hitchcock!” Booker glared, hand on her hips, “I might have known. You waited longer than usual to visit.”

“Sarge said to wait until she was out of x-ray,” Hitch admitted.

“Well, all of you usually spend her visit hovering like a bunch of mother hens.”

“We do not hover,” Hitch argued, cradling a dented and bloody helmet in his hand. “And sarge is the mother hen.”

“He is, but where is Sergeant Moffit,” Booker asked, “he’s almost always here first to visit.”

“He’s dealing with something,” the young blond said, and a second man appeared. “Booker, this is Private Mars.”

“Is she alright?” Mars asked, and the nurse nodded. Stepping aside, she watched Tully give a half-hearted wave. “Tules, how are you?”

“Fine.”

“She’s lying,” Booker said sharply, “no loud noises and no bright lights. I’ll throw you out on your ears.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Private Mars pulled off her helmet and settled beside the cot. Forgoing the chair that the doctor had ordered out preemptively, knowing that the visiting Rats would just steal his if they didn’t have one, he knelt next to the driver. “Gosh, Tules, you scared the stuffing out of me.”

“I’m fine,” Tully said, looking past Mars at Hitchcock who was squinting suspiciously at Mars. Booker jerked her head to the side and pushed Hitch past the curtain and further down the hospital tent.

“Who is he?”

“Daniel Mars,” the commando was still staring at the curtain, frowning. “He grew up with Tully.”

“He’s awful close.”

“He just got to the desert.”

“Hitch,” she frowned, “are we going to have a problem?”

“I don’t think so,” he frowned, staring down at the bloody helmet in his hands. “Does he seem a little attentive to you?”

“Childhood sweethearts can be like that.” She said, and sighed when his eyes widened.

“Childhood sweethearts?” He said in a loud whisper that made a GI on a nearby cot snort sleepily. They watched him carefully and when it didn’t look like he would wake up, continued. “Not Tully.”

“Even Tully can have a childhood sweetheart,” she rolled her eyes, “you don’t think she ambled out of the Cumberland Gap a machine gun in one hand a box of matches in the other just to join up with you boys, did you?” Going by the look on his face, that was at least something that he’d thought. “Besides, Hitch, Tully probably doesn’t even know he was sweet on her.”

“How can she not?”

“It’s Tully,” Booker pointed out, “and why’d you bring that helmet in here? It’s all bloody?”

“It’s what she was wearing during the last battle,” he hoisted it, “it saved her life.”

“It sure did,” Booker sighed and they slipped back over the Tully’s cot. Mars was quiet, but staring intently at his friend. Tully’s eyes were closed, but opened back up as Hitch appeared at her side.

“I brought your helmet,” he said, setting it on the chair. “You’re going to have a draw a new one from supply.” Tully blinked, a faint uptick in her lips made Hitch grin. “And I brought matches.” He handed her the matchbook. “In case you get bored.”

“I just bet Sergeant Moffit will be around to read to you when he’s done with whatever he’s finished.” Booker smiled as Mars frowned. “But not too much, you need to rest and recover.”

“He’ll keep quiet,” Dr. Hogan appeared, his face twisted into a scowl. “The Rats, I should have known you’d all crowd...where’s Troy and Moffit?”

“Busy, sir.”

“Alright, tell the clucking hens that Tully is going to be fine and they can swing by to visit in the morning.” He gestured broadly. “Out, you and you, take a hike.”

“We were just visiting,” Hitch protested.

“It’s too early to be visiting and the last time you were here for over an hour I lost my best pair of socks. “

“You lost those fair and square, sir.” Hitch grinned and Hogan started pushing the private’s past the curtain.

“Unless you want a check-up,” Dr. Hogan scowled, “get out. Go. She’ll be here later.”

Hitch was grinning broadly as the doctor and private played out their usual skit. Booker giggled as Mars and Hitch were finally pushed out of the hospital tent and Dr. Hogan flounced back in with as much noise as he dared to make. “You,” he pointed an imperious hand at Tully, who didn’t bother with looking contrite, “are both my favorite and least-favorite patient. You do as I say and don’t act up, but you bring all of your guard dogs too.”

“I’m a lucky fella,” Tully beamed, and Dr. Hogan frowned.

“Go to sleep and if you have any pain, nausea, or vertigo, give a shout.” He huffed and left. Booker winked at Tully and lowered the light.

“Night, Tully.”

“Hmmm,” The woman closed her eyes, dropping off with the speed of a soldier who knew that sleep was meant to be caught at every possible opportunity. 

She was still on-duty for another few hours, and she went to check on the other soldiers.

#$#$3

“So,” Boggs stared down at Troy, Moffit, and the young man in front of him.

“Sir,” Troy moved a bit, stepping away from Private Donner, “this man is a spy.”

“What?” Boggs demanded, and watched as Troy and Moffit subdue the man before he could reach for a firearm. “WHAT?” Suspended between the two men, Private Donner (?) looked slightly pathetic but definitely frantic. “What the hell?”

“We were keeping an eye on him, sir, but we had to make sure everything was cleared before we could out him.” Sergeant Troy looked entirely unrepentant for having caused him an enormous headache.

“How?” He asked faintly.

“Tully figured it out, and this is Dietrich’s speed. Putting him in the cells with Mars after figuring out that the private knew him. He was digging for information on Tully.”

“Rather well thought out,” Moffit said mildly, his tone not betraying the iron grip he had on the younger man’s arm. “But even the good captain underestimates Tully.”

“When she stumbled,” the man said slowly, and he shot a betrayed glare at Troy. “I thought Americans were supposed to be honest, not sneaky.”

“You could get shot for being in one of our uniforms,” Boggs barked, watching the by-play with a headache mounting. The man paled in the dim light of the office.

“I.” He licked his lips nervously.

“But you’re more useful to us alive...for now. God, you guys are getting better.”

“I think Dietrich had a hand in training this one,” Troy said, and the prisoner frowned. “Didn’t he?”

“I am not answering.”

“That’s a yes.”

“You can kill me,” the young man lifted his head, “Herr Hauptmann has Tully’s plans and soon he will come for me.”

“That’s Private Pettigrew to you,” Boggs snapped, “KLINGER!”

“Sir” the man stuck his head in the door.

“Get the MPs and one of the spare German uniforms.” 

“Yes, sir!” Klinger disappeared and the spy trembled faintly and Colonel Boggs frowned at him.

“How did she know?” He finally asked, plaintively. “I saw her for only a few minutes!”

Moffit and Troy exchanged a glance and said nothing.


End file.
